


One Killing Machine; Warranty Expired

by 60_Lingette_Humides



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Goro boi lives, M/M, This fic is also very in akechis head, This started with the first maybe 10 paras and took off on its own
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-18 21:59:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12397077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/60_Lingette_Humides/pseuds/60_Lingette_Humides
Summary: All the neurons in his brain rewired for revenge; all the muscle memory devoted to how to weild a gun; and a body that runs on hate. Akechi Goro was not built to last.So why did he start in a cell in the velvet room as if he wasn't running on empty?





	One Killing Machine; Warranty Expired

**Author's Note:**

> Or, alternatively titled, "Goro Akechi gets Scrooge Mcduck'd"
> 
> This got away.... from 1k to 8.8k ORZ  
> im not sure if im happy with the result.... but i had nothing left to say and i fear leaving it a draft will cause me to never post it ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Akechi Goro was not built to last.  
Brought up on fairytales and stunted affection, his eyes sought out noble truths where there were none; he waited on heros only he could see. When his mother died he stood watching over her, counting the minutes in expectance of a caped crusador to arrive. He learned bitter truths. He sought solitude. He grew up undisturbed from others (he wouldn't say broken, but he would never say somebody tried to put him back together), fixated on the image he came to cultivate and putting aside the person underneath. His constant perceptions running through his mind behind the mask. He came to own one goal as intricate as a palace in it's own right. He was beaten down. He knowingly let himself be taken advantage of. He let enemies profitize off his otherworldly talents; all so one man could be taken down at his climax.

Akechi Goro saw the irony in devoting his life to tirelessly bringing down the one who gave it to him. He saw the hypocrisy at every life he took, every shadow whose family he had deprived. Yet, he found he simply didn't have the time to care. His life was too busy to worry about the implications behind his actions. 

Goro often found himself comparing his life to that of a black snake firework. They lived short, abrupt, _funny_ (he was sure some otherworldly being was laughing at him somewhere) lives in perpetual motion, a continuous stream until an abrupt end. They stopped in short work. A little blimp meant to satisfy onlookers. He was nothing more than a spectacle, and yet as much as his purpose seemed to be for his spectators their gaze did nothing to draw him from his goal (although the attention was appreciated.)

As time moved forward, so did his plan. It was a little odd living with a physical date to stare at in the coming months. The red cross on his calender marked the day the election results would come out. And then, he assumed, the week after would be spent revelling in the glory his proclamation of Shido's guilt would arouse through him. Everytime he thought of it, he shivered.

What happened after was of no consequence. He knew he could continue living for the fans or even attempt to start his own political empire. Perhaps even explain all the months it took of research to finally catch Shido, compound falsified evidence that pointed him to every crime scene or salacious act he had Goro do in his steed, sans his illegitimate offspring, of course.

And when enough time had passed, it seemed obvious he would grow tired of living without meaning. His absence of a goal would reach him in ways he thought he'd grown out of, and the walls surrounding his spacious apartment would close in, in a poor imitation of the suffocating shared room of the orphanage. Eventually, he might take his own life. Or allow a criminal to steal it for him. He knew, at the very least, that it would be no small mercy of his own to remove the last of Shido's lineage from the world.

The blood of an evil man ran through him, and though Goro had hidden suspicions that he was no better, the very thought was enough to make his veins burn. He had even humoured the ludicrous notion that his very blood would be his end. The acidic substance would revolt against his body at the death of it's true master, and kill him slowly. Red and blue come together to melt his insides in viscous oil, in a slow dredge that could only be tar combing its way through his body.

Yes, he would die and it would be a happy death. His life would be complete, fulfilled in a way that was as satisfying as running his lightsaber through an enemy, the slow burn away of false flesh as clean as a butcher's cut. Like easing into a warm bath, cutting away all thoughts for a sweet release of tense shoulder and shaking limb. 

That _was_ the plan. From the start, that was his ideal. A rampage of death, marked martyrfully by his own end. Justice served on all parties. All sins atoned. All targets futile lives slashed in half as a worthy sacrifice for taking down a larger evil. So, how did it end so wrong? How harshly had he overlooked the Phantom Thieves true potential as enemies? For how long had they known, and what plot did he unknowingly fall into?

Worser still; he lived. He could understand their sense of justice, enviously marvel in it, even. He saw in them an innocence he was stripped of, of a world wherein all criminals could atone for their crimes without having to resort to death. The bare thought that he could die to such caricatures of pure naivete was both insulting and welcome, if they could defeat him.

Somehow, they could. That was the icing on top. He lost through the power of _friendship_. At that point, it would have been a _mercy_ killing. Giggles threatened to break through as he grasped the cell bars, his head pressed against the cool metal in an attempt to shut himself up. It seemed he was still psychotic, but whether that was a result of his powers or his own personal history, he had no true justification. The cold disappointment of his plans falling through lent more to cooling him than the bare metal against his forehead. 

He sighed ruefully. Shido would _live_ , and so would he. If this could be called living. He finally glanced around the room, taking in the lack of details in the hazy jail cell. He seemed to be alone in a corridor, somewhere deep in the Velvet Room. Was he correct to assume he was dreaming? As he took in his surroundings, his grip on the bars faltered and he could begin to feel his knees buckle. He settled on the nearby bed instead. 

 _I'm fatigued, but more than that; how can I be so tired in my sleep? The absence of others is odd as well..._ At the realization that he seemed truly alone, he stretched, finally able to relax. He laid his head to the pillowless sheet, and let his mind wander as to what to do next. Could there be a way to turn this around? To capture Shido moments before the change of heart, and kill him anyway (while his real world self was still unaware of Goro's knowledge of his predetermined disposal.) To find him afterward, in jail, and have him atone at his hand. At that point, the guilt would allow Shido to bend over at Akechi's whim if he so wished him to. _It wouldn't be as fulfilling but it would do._

He glanced at the cell door, still locked in place. He squinted at the monotone environment, thinking over exactly when he had been caught. It could have been any moment that gave him away, any off-hand comment that was off-colour on closer inspection. The admittedly bad mock interrogations he pulled on the group before he blackmailed them; the interest he showed in Akira; the long visits to Leblanc; the long talks with Akira... 

That may be the thread that unwove his entire plot. His petty hormones, his meaningless crush that steered so impossibly far from his plan that it seemed silly he didn't account for it until now. He chuckled as his eyes grew heavy. It would be almost impossible to pinpoint what led the phantoms to be wise to his motives. He yawned. Hopefully he would wake in the real world and enact at least the back-up plan.

* * *

Slowly, in a primordial darkness, his head lifted and his eyes peeked out to be blinded by light. Then they adjusted. His eyes took in coffee bags lining a shelf and his ears were privy to a soft silence that was ruined by the monotonous drip of coffee. A bush of hair. A green apron. He wanted to smile, though he knew he shouldn't. Leblanc. Akira stood close behind the counter, topping him off as if they hadn't fought to the death. Was this his personal heaven?

Akechi attempted to move his head but found he wasn't able to budge. A loud voice broke through, sounding much too close. He found it was his own. _'My- My apologies, Kurusu-kun! I didn't mean to drift off. It seems the last few days have taken a toll on me.'_

A memory? He watches Akira nod, as he always does. A smile tugs on his face without his permission. _'You could have woke me up, you know? It- Goodness, it must be past closing.'_ His head tilts to see the world beyond the door is dark blue, barely lit by a streetlamp. He remembers not being as nonplussed as he was acting. Rather, all he worried about was letting his guard down in front of-

Oh. This. He still remembers this. 

 _'Really, Kurusu-' don't make exceptions for me,_ he never let him finish.

_'It's fine. It's fun watching you sleep.'_

 What was he supposed to say to that? His past self sputters as he studies Akira's face. It's honest. It's entirely too open despite his poker face, and yet Goro is reminded of the way they plotted against him and he was none the wiser. Maybe this was all part of it too. The thought hurt, though he knew it had no right to. A hesitant voice broke through the white noise in his head, _'I-I see. Was I making any particularly funny faces?'_

 Akira shook his head. Goro had to brace himself for his next words. _'You look utterly relaxed when you sleep. As if you have no worries. I wish-'_

_You looked like that more often?_

_I could know why you're never relaxed?_

_I could help you?_

Goro wished for that too. Although at the moment it was only a small thing, flickering absently in the middle of his chest like a bad bit of heartburn. It was so small. He just had to never fan the flame. He just had to carefully stop more of _these things_ from happening.

So that's what this Goro did. He picked up his briefcase, lifting himself out of his seat as if he were pulled by an invisible force. Apologized, but it was really so late and _he had to go._

He wanted to scream at his past self. He wanted to yell that all his attempts to distance himself failed, so he might as well do it. Do what he so desperately wanted. Instead, his line of sight rose, and his eyes more focused this time around on Akira picked up on the slight frown. Goro waved his goodbye. He bit his lip, sighed heavily, and mounted his bike. _That was a long ride home_ , he recalls. _For two reasons. That..._

 And his impending migraine. He felt it just as real this time around. His eyes shut tight against the world, and his hands (so familiar but still not in his control) clutching at his temples. The world went dark again.

* * *

 Instantaneously he felt the rush of air against him. His eyes went wide at a blue too pleasant for the velvet room, and it was with the slowly impending clouds that he realized it was the sky. Slowly, his eyes descended back to the ground. His bike beneath him as he cycled through an otherwise empty street. _Hence the skygazing._

But what makes this event special to him? There were a million memories he had of bicycling, and only a handful involved more than the sky and the blurred scenery as it passed by. His eyes perked up at the street in question. Yongen-Jaya. Then- _Oh, for fuck's sake_ -

His eyes were planted on his handlebars, trying to move his bag before it slipped off. He already knew what was coming, having lived through it. He tried bracing himself, closing his eyes, but his memory continued with little choice from him. A cat screeched. Goro reflexively swerved left, avoiding Morgana (who had already jumped out of the way) and landing in a crash at the doorstep of Leblanc, plants scattered but they later learned unharmed. The chair in front took most of the force, and this time Akechi looked up to see Akira was halfway through the door by the time he had planted himself among the ficus.

He heard the laugh from above him, but the anger he'd felt living the scene was gone. On re-visitting it he realized he wanted to laugh as well. A measuredly controlled voice met the morning air, _'Ah. Hello, Kurusu.'_

Another nod. _'How nice of you to... drop by.'_

Another sigh. _'Please give me a hand. My bike is rather...'_ he trailed off.

 He felt his limbs were sore, but it bothered him as little as the first time. The bike was removed as they chatted about almost killing Morgana. Akira offered his hand and Goro, against all better judgement, accepted it readily.

It burned. The warmth in his chest grew as did the dizziness in his head. His vision blackened in spots, and in trying to lean against the door, inadvertently cradled himself against Akira even more. The embarrassment was nigh, and yet the heat of another person against him was so foreign it was relaxing. He felt his eyes flutter as he forgot himself. He wanted more of that warmth. After near-death he craved it. In the heat of the moment, however, it was new and frightening and as much as he wanted to escape into the fire and be born anew- he pushed him away so quickly the vertigo returned.

His eyes slammed shut against the light, and against whatever expression Akira's face held. His voice was already slipping away, _'I'm sorry. I have a massive headache- I really didn't mean to... Please forget-'_

* * *

 The headache was still there upon the new memory. Goro had started to hypothesize just what was happening. Three memories in a row? The darkness surrounded him still and his forehead was in a pain so great his eyes watered. It was almost a comfortable pain in it's familiarity. At the very least, the lack of outside stimuli allowed him to continue his thoughts.

 _You obtain access to the velvet room through sleep. You obtain access to memories by sleeping in the physical Velvet Room_ (all clues pointed to his physical being actually being in there). Was there another rabbithole to fall into? Per example, if he fell asleep in a memory? But for him to be shown a memory it has to be important in some way, and any memory of him sleeping was fitfully unamusing (sans the first one) and to be in a physical rendition of a memory where he had control-

He bit his tongue. Memory-Goro opened his eyes. Instantly, he was confused. He was alone in his apartment. The mirror allowed him to see himself for the first time. He had just woken up, red eyes with dark circles. Face slack without a smile, staring as he knew he could without anyone else around. He knew exactly what he was feeling. Contempt. Hatred. A fear of the blood running through him- a need to go against what Shido and his job and all of his associates want. A need to do something to remind himself he was in control. A reminder that everything he did was orchestrated by his own plan. He stared at the eyes in the mirror. He watched the cabinet open. 

He downed a few painkillers, the tablets light in his hand. The cabinet closed and he felt his mouth constrict. When the mirror was back in place so was his grin. Then he lowered his eyes, watching his hands clutch the sink harshly. Their skin littered in sharp scars. His back bent. His breaths harsh. This was the point he realized he really couldn't do anything. At least not in his bathroom. He didn't trust that Shido would even give him the privacy. His migraine slowed to a dull ache.

He rubbed his eyes shut again, his fingers massaging the lids. His hand trembles with a vibration. He looked left. His phone is pinging with messages from the Phantom Thieves groupchat. He stares at it, using his free hand to slide open the chat, and the other to rubs his eyes again.

* * *

 The hand that uncovered his eyes was nothing like his own. There was no glove hiding rough callouses and a lack of fingerprints (and the marks), but human skin and the faint smell of coffee. His eyes opened expecting Akira ostensibly close, but instead all he saw was the dark alley he was pulled into. Quickly, Akira shifts them around so Akechi is the one against the wall, and Akira is blocking him from view. It was as heavensent as the first time (although he could only truly appreciate it now.) He started to stutter, the words losing traction as Akira _shushed_ him. 

 _'I saw a hoard of your fans waiting outside Leblanc. I thought you should know beforehand, but-'_ he nudged his head in the direction of a group of girls _, 'I guess they know your route too.'_

 _'Ah,'_ Akechi whispered in equal parts humour and false wonder, ' _And your idea of helping me involved putting us in this increasingly_ easily _misunderstood scenario?'_

 ' _Hm?'_

Akechi lifts an eyebrow, pressing his back more comfortably into the wall behind him and hiding behind Akira's form further. His voice is clear in his head, but he knows Akira is straining to hear. ' _It's more a substitution, isn't it? Ten rabid fangirls for one Phantom Thief pushing me up against walls.'_

 Akira stood mouth agape for _one_ second before laughing at Akechi's comment. He smiled sweetly. '.. _.Tell me why you're never this fun with the rest of them?'_

Akechi shifted his weight under the scrutiny, his mind searched for excuses. He knew why. He knew exactly why, but the situation as it was couldn't afford another ill-timed flirtation. Despite his affection on both fronts, Goro watching and desperately willing a confession past his lips, all he said was:

_'...I'll try to start.'_

_A nod. 'I'd be glad.'_

* * *

 He woke up sweating in the blue cell. He watched the ceiling in silence before experimentally dragging a hand down his face. It was clammy and cold, his face was burning. He was in control. He had total autonomy over his body, even if he didn't have power over his past. He scowled, taking every opportunity of being alone. "Was that the stupid point? The meaningless message I was supposed to infer from this?" He laughed to himself, a cackle that bounced off wall. 

"I. Have. Control." He sat upright before continuing in a low imitation of his more sarcastic drawl, "I can do as I please- a new concept! I can abandon my dreams despite all I've worked toward _for two years!_  Astounding, how hadn't I realized this sooner? Why, it's almost as if this is what I _want_ to do-"

He grasped his head as a migraine started, stating in a venomous tongue, "Murdering my father will be a _dream come true."_

 And then he fell unconscious.

* * *

 He could admit to himself when he liked someone. He could admit that he wanted things seemingly anyone would want. Friends. Colleagues. People he hadn't needed to blackmail. That wasn't- that wasn't the point. He watched as his eyes lifted from Akira's half-asleep face, watching as they roamed across the other Phantom thieves countenance. This was the day Akira insisted they spend their afternoon at Leblanc.

_Even in this moment they knew, yet they let their guard down around me._

Junk food. Leftover curry (mostly for Yusuke, who apparently can't be trusted to feed himself). Soda cans littered the floor. Most of the people left in the room were half-asleep as the TV blasted a low budget horror movie that was easily hilarious. He eyed Futaba with her head down on her laptop, soft snores and insults being muttered. Haru sitting against the bed stroking Makoto's hair, her eyes closed as she hummed a lullaby. Makoto who rested in Haru's lap, looking the most content he's ever known. Ann and Ryuji, who started the day on opposite ends of the room trying to take embarrassing pictures of eachother; each one now laid their head against the other.

There was a part of him that wished he killed them then. A part that admonished he ever let himself get carried away.

Yusuke was just comatose on the floor. _Somebody was going to trip over him in the morning,_ he remembered. His eyes moved of their own accord back to Akira. Akira, who was looking up at him, a lazy grin reaching his tired eyes. He smiled back. Yes. He could admit to himself, and the Gods who laugh at his mere existence, that he wanted this. He didn't have to lie to himself about all petty truths. He could feel his eyes flutter closed, opening every so often in an attempt to stay awake.

He wanted this, but it would always be an unattainable fever dream. Those were his feelings from the start, and they hadn't changed. _A life wherein I forget everything I've done, every crime, to lay happily in the grass with kids who won't kill flies? Where Shido is alive, knowing pain but not divine punishment for the torment he brought down upon my mother? On me?_

_And somehow I'm allowed to live?_

It was more likely for them to kill him. His eyes finally slammed shut for a final time, granting darkness instead of the kitschy get together blinking in and out.

* * *

  _And_ , he started despite himself- _And, what if I did indulge myself?_ The scene in front of his eyes was appropriate. He stood alone in his dark apartment. His shoes already taken off at the door, his briefcase sitting on his low coffee table. The curtains were drawn, but still let in the dark of night. 

He didn't have to see any of that to know it was there. That was one thing in his apartment that would stay constant. This Goro was meanwhile in a moment of weakness. He was staring at a picture Futaba had captured somehow in LeBlanc. His grip on his phone was harsh. It was all of them, and though his smile was forced he found himself wishing it wasn't.

 _It would go against nature. It would be cruel._ If they actually enjoyed his company, if he made commitments knowing what he was- a lit fuse. A snake waiting to burn out. He was already reaching the end of his short life, and stringing them along-

No matter how much he wanted to-

He just didn't see the point. He knew in this scene before the battle, how little their faux friendship mattered. His need to be avenged filled in any empty spaces in his heart. His thoughts of ridding the world of Shido's specific brand of evil still made his skin crawl in that satisfying way.

 There was a happiness to be achieved. A cosmic sort of peace that he expected to find when he finally has his hand itch along the gun he'll hold to Shido's head. And while it was different to the minute to minute happiness he felt in the company of those thieves- it was every bit as sweet. 

So he pushed those feelings down. He ignored them for the sickly sweet acidic taste in his mouth. It burned like battery acid hitting his tongue. It was a warped kind of peace, but it was his. He knew it would be tough. He knew it would be painful. _But when it worked it would all be worth it._

 _But it didn't work._ Years of meticulous lies grafted onto his body like leather skin; shedding the truth for layers planted to keep him in his place. And all he had to show for it was a plan that went awry.

If he knew everything would go to shit, the last thing Akechi would be doing is restraining himself. Yet his body stood there nonetheless, unable to move with hindsight guiding him. His hold on the phone never loosening.

 A harsh sigh echoed through the cold room. He felt his eyes shut. He realized belatedly that he could taste copper, and his mouth ached.

* * *

 A blink and the inside of Leblanc came into view; hauntingly familiar to the first scene yet containing no sleep, no migraines. In fact, this memory felt alive in a buzzing energy. There was a tenseness in the air tht was ineffable. He found his muscles taut under his shirt. He could feel the coffee still warm in his hand. He could read, quite easily, the unsettling look on Akira's face. It was filled with a mocking warmth. Melancholy for what was to come? Carefully disguised contempt? Pity, he swallowed bitterly.

Nonetheless, this seemed much more recent. His eyes lowered unto the counter, one hand hidden underneath as he read more messages from _him_. He wanted to scoff, the impatient bastard. By the date on his phone, it was the final days before the palace. He had begun to close back up, ready to tuck away their kindness into an alcove in his brain for another day. Did it hurt? Absolutely. Was it necessary?

Of course.

He could handle necessary pain. It was familiar _,_ when he had let himself be walked over just to work for Shido _._  He knew the correct way to continue was the path paved in stone. The same path he had started years ago. Even if the rest, even if he himself, would rather follow them on the road less travelled by. 

It seemed there was an utter lapse in conversation. Perhaps-

 _'There are better things in life than challenging society.'_ It was his voice that jolted through the silence. The words sounded familiar, false as they were. As the memory refocused on drinking his coffee, he was able to make out the minute details he had otherwise missed in Akira's face, just barely peeking behind the rim of his mug.

The flecks of light off Akira's glasses whenever he looked at Akechi while trying to hide that he was. The twist of his mouth. The eyes that knew he was lying. 

There were _times_ Goro favoured complacency. Complacency in others; in himself to those who would prove useful if he could do the same. Subjugation in most forms was a welcoming caste system that was as familiar as a threadbare blanket. He prided himself in knowing and actively working alongside the societal expectations granted to him.

Did he think it was in any way better? Never. A bow or two were needed to bring down Shido, so it stopped to matter how much he had to grit his teeth together to keep from scowling. Surprisingly, it caused him less ill ease than expected. Of course the detective did resort to unorthodox means of stress relief.  
  
_'Like what?'_  
  
_'Perhaps I should rephrase- there are easier things in life. Maybe this is hard to believe, but I enjoy ease and practicality moreso than any chase.'_  
  
_'Enjoy? Or begrudgingly accept?'_  
  
That left a sour taste in his mouth. _'I hardly have the experience needed to know the difference.'_  

That left Akira smirking, ' _Then stay. We don't have to disband, and you can feel the first licks of rebellious freedom.'_

Even in the moment, he was suspicious. Knowing now that Akira was all too aware of his traitorous intent, what he was attempting seemed foolish. His eyes squinted at the words. What had he wanted out of this? 

Did he truly think it would be so easy to make him go back on his work? Or was it a fruitless endeavor he did only to make himself feel better, so eventually he could tell his friends 'they did the best that they could.' Or was it an honest attempt at giving Goro the out he was desperately vexing for.

He remembered this moment. The words he would utter next crawled through him at a dangerously leisurely pace. A thousand legs scuttling slow across his throat as he opened his mouth, the monster waiting to burst.

_There's absolutely no chance. Although we set aside our differences for this, my personal opinion has not changed. You are still utterly deplorable for-_

_'That's a nice dream, Akira. Truly, if we had met earlier I might have acquiesced.'_

That wasn't what he said. It was true, it was deceptively honest, but it was false to the memory. His stomach churned as he watched. He felt the foreign words lodged in his throat, as if they were choking him and all sense of order he had on the situation. His nerves ran wild. 

_'Why do you act as if you're at the end of a rope?'_

He felt himself swallow. A bitter laugh echoed aloud, _'Because I am.'_

His eyes shut, and in the darkness of the moment he thought the pseudo-memory finished; only to feel an unfamiliar warmth cup his cheek. His eyes widen to see Akira, less than an arms length apart. His hand cradled Goro's face. 

 _I hate this_. He wanted this. This was what he continuously egged himself on to be enacted. So why did it hurt? 

 _I'm not in control._ His breathing is harsh. He felt sick. As if his stomach was empty and being tossed around. Was this some sick joke?

 _I don't understand._ His head moved of its accord, further mounting itself in Akira's grip. Their mouths ( _his_ mouth but he couldn't use it) clashed in every way he had ever imagined them to. The centipedal monstrosity erupted into a million tiny moths. Butterfly kisses that were more urgent than the coffee shop atmosphere permitted. It was so alive in his head.  
  
When they fell apart, he cried out for more. But all his body did was smile in a sullen way he couldn't hope to imitate. Real sadness. Real grief read on his face and contorted it painfully. Vulnerability that itched at his skin like termites. His blood boiling.  
  
He closed his eyes as his legs snapped upright. His briefcase clenched like a lifeline in his hand. His voice bubbled through to him as if underwater,  _'Well, Akira. Goodbye.'_

* * *

He woke up gasping, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears. His fist hit the wall next to him as he shouted, "That's not fair!" His breaths came in laboured shuddering messes. He blinked rapidly, taking in the suffocating blue walls. He cocooned his face in his arms, pressed them urgently against his eyes to make it stop. He wouldn't cry over this.

He took wet breaths. His throat warbled with the effort it took to stay quiet. His arms eventually lowered, with only his hand left lingering over his lips. He whispered, "How- How dare you. Falsifying a memory? Did you think that would change my mind?"

The room replied with silence.

He stayed staring at the ceiling. "Well, you were right. It _is_ too late. Even if what I desire has changed... All paths to redemption have all but shut themselves before me."

His monologue is disrupted by footsteps. Urgent steps that take on a sprint. Akechi whipped himself out of bed, defending himself by attempting to hide behind the mattress. _Anyone who has to run is either being chased or searching for something._

His head peeks out to watch as a black-clad individual runs the corner. His whole ensemble is revealed, white mask and- he gasps, rising from his spot, "Joker?"

"Goro- You're alive." His tone is incredulous.

"As are you. Which indicates you were successful against my father's heart?"

"He's the least of our worries."

He gave a confused tilt of his head, "I don't follow. I've been here since the palace and- _Why_ aren't you upset at me further?"

"Again, the _least_. There's a godly being on earth, enslaving the masses. It tried erasing us from existence. I'm collecting the other Phantom Thieves."

He supposed that was easy to swallow after the Metaverse. He nodded, "Then, perhaps continue your search elsewhere. There's... nobody here but me."

He watched the masked boy take another step further, "Didn't you hear? I'm here to collect you."

He scoffed without prompt, "Please don't start with your foolish-"

"Our offer still stands. You may not be entirely forgiven, but you were part of us," he started nonetheless.

"And you need all the manpower you can against this- creature," he sighed, edging himself closer against the bars. He leaned against them fully, staring into Akira's masked visage mere centimetres away. "While the circumstances that called for your death are gone, don't misunderstand this as a change of heart. It's simply...I am not..."

"I think you're overestimating how much you have to explain yourself."

He gave a short smile. "True. All I'm trying to get across is: I am still everything I've done."

"But you can grow."

His eyes widened minutely, just as the cell door shimmered out of existence. All of his weight instead fell on Joker, his head falling forward without the bars underneath him. Their lips crash together, both eyes like saucers in surprise. _It's better than the dream_ , he thought abashedly, and then wholeheartedly at the insistence with which Joker pushed it further.

Goro is the first to break it apart, though he's hesitant. His hands find Joker's shoulders and he holds himself an arms length apart as his metaverse outfit materializes, mask and all. The red mask flickers out of existence for a second, his face is flushed underneath. His black mask replaced it, then once again it shifted back. It continued rapidly, his traitor garb and his true idea of himself fighting to remain on his person.

He sighed, holding his eyes shut as he concentrated. Finally, his crow outfit ceased to change. He took a step backwards and coughed in an uncomfortable way that brought attention back to his blush. "I suppose you have a point. Thank you."

Joker nodded, at times looking directly into Goro's eyes and then anywhere but. "I- Me... I should find the others."

"Yes-" He croaked before clearing his throat, "You. Yes. I will stay here for now."

* * *

Although nobody (but perhaps Igor) was expecting Akechi to join them, his arrival did little besides surprise and invigorate them. He summed it up that they really were low on manpower and he was a powerful persona user when on their side. 

He started to think none of his prowess mattered when Joker shot the Fake God with Satan's giant gun. He started to grow inevitably uncomfortable when Morgana was disappearing into the sky spouting emotional prose none of them could hear because he was so far away. He tried to leave soon after, he took less than two steps when he felt something halt his movement. He turned to see Akira with one hand tugging at his sleeve, either eager to continue their cell block tango or simply the part where Akechi was in a cell.

 The other thieves started to disperse, promising to meet up the next day for a party he was likely not invited to for- Christmas? His mouth moved without words.

"Are you...?" Akira inquired.

"Perfect. It's the twenty fourth?"

He nodded. "Where are you going?"

He sighed, "My apartment is likely the same as I left it. Shido's associates think I'm dead, so I am safe to go home and sleep. Is that what you were wondering?"

 "Kinda." He shrugged, "And... Are you coming by tomorrow?"

He could resurrect Yaldabaoth with his glare. "Don't pretend I would be welcome there. _Goodbye_." He twisted his arm out of Akira's grip.

 

 

 

 His keys were still safely on his person, somehow surviving an apocalypse in his pocket. He shot through the keyhole with a tired, dragging purpose. He pushed the door to his apartment open. The room was dark, shadows bathed the white walls in cold hues of blue with barely filtered in light. Dust was forming on the few surfaces it could. 

 He felt entirely too comfortable in his sterile little room. His impersonal safe haven. He didn't bother with his shoes, simply locked the door behind him before he made the crawl to his bed. Somehow, his memory induced sleep hadn't survived the battle against a false god. 

He landed on his face, burrowed deep into the sheets. He fell asleep to a dull blackness. No memories. His shoes were kicked off fitfully during the night. When he awoke hours after, he expected something horrible. Instead, the night was incredibly still. The sounds outside were far and in between. The light in his bathroom was on from six days prior. 

He rose his head to peek at the room moreso, his hair rising with him. Still real. His phone, he belatedly realized, was poking into his back. He quickly turned it on out of habit. The screen became a small lightsource in his hand which caused him to squint as he read through each notification. Old texts from Sae. Missed calls from Shido. New texts from Akira. He rose out of his bed as if he could escape them with new distance. His legs carried him to the washroom, despite his stomachs protests. His steps halted as he stared at the brightly lit room and was confronted by what lay on the sink gleaming in the light. _That's right,_ he recalled _. I had a plan._

 _No amount of catastrophe can disrupt me so soundly I forget the base of my existence._ Akechi, fully awake with reality, walked calmly into his bathroom. He ran the tap, rubbing handfuls of water into his face. He rubbed his eyes until they were newly red. Then he grasped what lay immaculate on the sink, covered in small droplets that fell loose from his hand. It felt familiar in his grip; but the emotions that accompanied it were at once alien.

His gun. Its very real weight, usually a grounding tool, now led his thoughts astray.

 _I had a plan._ He carried the gun over to his bed, sitting next to it as he stared at the wall ahead. His phone pinged again.

 _My life's work. It failed catatonically._ He reached for it without seeing it. His head lowered to take in the metal in his hand. Slow, unsteady and desperate fingers began to clench at the gun as if holding onto it further would return all his ill thoughts.

 _It's somehow days after, and the burning vitriol I expected to carry til my death is barely a pain in my side. And that could merely be residual bruising from my phone._ His eyes finally flashed to his cell phone. It was four am on Christmas day.

 _Not one step of my plan worked correctly. Shido is alive, and I am alive and that serves no purpose. I have nothing to live for. I am existing utterly without reason-_ His phone pinged again. He breathes out irritably, finally checking the messages as they come in.

Akira, Akira, Akira. 

[12:56 pm] did u get home

[1:33 am] are u safe

[3:56 am] do u want to talk?

[3:58 am] i want to talk

[4: 02 am] haru says she won't mind if ur there tomorrow

 _'But I mind,'_ he types back _. 'I have no incentive for joining your group tomorrow.'_

[4:03 am] our group

[4:03 am] The linguistics of the situation are nothing to argue over now.

[4:04 am] so youre definitely not coming?

[4:04 am] Correct.

[4:04 am] then when can i see u again?

 _Again?_ He wasn't aware there would be a continuation. His hand falters on the phone as he used the other to rotate the gun. He felt it, a dull roar. Nothing like the faux sense of morality he used to persuade others, and just as far reserved from the painful fury he felt when thinking of his revenge in the past.

He wouldn't be adverse to using it on Shido. He couldn't sense anything close to the magnetic pull that used to prompt him forward as if he would die, but that didn't mean it wouldn't be satisfying.

And it didn't mean he wouldn't die. His life's work... If he didn't kill Shido it was increasingly likely he would speak about him. Though the damage may have been done (he would have to look into it), there was still a chance he could silence him. He still had a few days of using Shido's contacts, though risky it was, he would be able to lie to lower levels saying he could still use his skills to return their boss to him.

If Shido didn't die, his actions would come to light. If the public learned the truth, Goro would have to die.

If he kills Shido, his revenge is achieved on a lower level, with perhaps nobody the wiser but him. Shido's associates, seeing him dead instead of saved would start to target Goro.

Unsurprisingly, the large amount of death in either choice did little to sway him. _Do I want to die?_ He questioned, unfamiliar with this line of query. His hand played with his gun as he thought, tapping the barrel against his chin without realizing. _No, that's not quite so. It's not that I crave it, but it seems rather inevitable._

He didn't want to die, yet he couldn't admit to feeling any sort of need to live. It was one thing to live with failure, but if given enough time he would surely start feeling the encroaching guilt ten times as harshly. The guilt he pushed away as if it was no consequence. 

He sighed, returning to his phone. Then there was this. Akira had continued to talk. He would be unhappy if Goro took _any_ action, no matter how justified; and the thought that he was taking Akira into consideration opened up an entirely new fear:

[4:06 am] maybe u dont think of the others as friends

[4:06 am] but i thought we were

[4:08 am] and i dont regret our kiss

[4:08 am] and i dont want u alone on christmas

 _I don't even have a present_ , he texted back sarcastically. Shido's associates old number was somewhere in his phone... another ping.

[4:08 am] your presence is a present

[4:08 am] Do you regret that line now that it exists in the corporeal world?

[4:09 am] no, that just makes it stronger

[4:09 am] havent u learned anything?

[4:09 am] to believe in shit pick up lines is what enables us to use sataneals asshole

[4:10 am] To think, we hadn't needed the phantom thieves at all.

[4:10 am] only u covered in gift wrap

[4:10 am] I hate this.

[4:10 am] :?

[4:10 am] I'm laughing as if the world hasn't ended. 

[4:11 am] Do you know? My whole life to this point ran solely on retaliation. I lived in silent rage at the world for my circumstance.

[4:11 am] All those emotions have seeped out of me, and now I'm here, utterly lost.

[4:12 am] Tired.

[4:12 am] I don't know who I am anymore.

[4:12 am] youre you

[4:12 am] smart and funny and alive

[4:13 am] It's evident you don't know me either.

[4:13 am] I'm angry,

[4:14 am] Paranoid,,

[4:15 am] Psychotic?

[4:16 am] And the velvet room changed me... Or perhaps it was my defeat. And those thoughts left me to become an empty husk of myself.

[4:16 am] And in a way this is all your fault.

Each word took ages to type out. As if he was arguing himself on revealing so much, but once they were written out the rest came easy. He reread his words through blurred eyes and realized he was crying.

 _Well, at least I'm alone,_ he thought as he wiped them away with the back of his hand still clenching the gun. It felt so wrong to admit his fears to another person, and yet he wanted nothing else but to rely on Akira.

He stared at his phone. Akira's icon popped up on the screen, followed by short bursts of '...' ominously taking the place of a message. He waited, wondering if he should start the hunt for Shido. Finally, the dots stopped.

His phone erupted with the default ringer as Akira called him. He watched it go off twice before tentatively sliding the call open. There was no time for civilities, Akira's voice pressed against his ear. "If it's my fault, I take full responsibility."  
  
He furrowed his brow, taking note of the breathlessness in his voice. His own wasn't any better, with his tears lining his throat. "Akira-"

"Even if you think all of that about yourself- it doesn't matter how you felt before- Well, it does. But what I mean is-"

"I can grow?" He replied, voice small in his room.  
  
He heard a smile in his reply, "Yeah. Don't you want to?"

"Grow? I never thought I would have to. The option involving you and I and a lack of Shido was both tangibly unreal and incredibly foolish. I... never thought I would live in this kind of reality." _I never thought I would live this long._

"It's like what Morgana said. The world is shaped by our perceptions."

"I suppose."

They sat in a comfortable silence, each breath heard as if it were painfully close. Akechi was reminded of his gun as he heard Akira shuffle on his side of the line. "What _is_ your perception of me?"

He said it without hesitance, "A kid who didn't have a fair chance. Someone who might have made better decisions if he had friends sooner."

His head was filled with conflicting thoughts. If he killed Shido, he wouldn't have Akira. If he allowed Shido to live, he wouldn't have the general public (he'd have to go on trial, or go into hiding, ultimately ruin his image.) If he had Akira, he wouldn't get his revenge. Instead, he would get to live a semi-normal life surrounded by people who might one day forgive him.

With an emptiness in his heart the shape of a bullet hole. With a lingering regret that seemed impossible to remove except with time. Time he didn't believe himself to have. He tuned into the phonecall just as Akira began to invite him again.

"I'm not going to your party. I won't ruin a celebration between friends."

"You are-"

"I am?" _Sick. Delusional. Unworthy_. "My answer will always be no."

"Then hang out with me after?"

"... Will you promise that when I show up they'll be gone?"

A sigh, "I promise."

"Then yes."

 

 

 When he entered Leblanc, the signs of a party were still scattered on tables and chairs. Gift wrap momentarily left out, empty little cups still in place. He smiled in the warmth of the empty cafe, feeling at home in ways his apartment could not replicate. He strained his hearing, yet doubted the party of eight could really be so good at hiding with Ryuji in tow.

Maybe there would come a time when he could trust Akira's word on merit alone. He lowered his scarf, calling out as he walked toward the attic, "I'm here, Akira." 

He heard sounds of clutter and moving boxes, but made no comment. A voice replied, "So you are! Gimme a sec," as the sound of tinkering persisted.

"Should I be concerned?" He asked, moving further up the stairs. Each step punctuated by an equivalent noise from above.

"Yes. If you hate fun."

He was about to laugh when he finally reached the top- and sneezed as a plume of dust burst in his face. "Do kids find dust fun these days?"

Akira came shuffling toward him with a handkerchief in hand, practically smothering the other boy. Goro sputtered as Akira gave his insincere apology. "The only pets Sojiro will let me keep are dust bunnies."

When the cloth came away from his face he was smiling. "So-" another sneeze, "What was that ruckus about?"

 "I thought we could make some of your faves," his other hand shakes a package as it comes into view. "Pancakes!"

As the night went on, it became apparent that while Akechi knew nothing about anything that went on in the kitchen, he was also determined to measure out all ingredients _exactly_ ; whisk as if his life depended on it; and sneeze into every batch they produced.

It was soon obvious that those sneezes were unrelated to the dust, and it was nearing midnight when they'd finished two batches of contaminated pancakes that Akechi yielded and allowed Akira to make him soup and bundle him up into a cocoon of attic-brand blankets.

 "What a way for karma to make itself known..." he grimaced, his eyes landing on the refuge of tissues that lay used at the top of the waste basket.

Akira snorted, "It's winter season. You're sick." Akechi still looked unsure, avoiding his eyes as the boy continued, "You were in that cell for days too, yeah? Your body could be unused to the changes so fast."

He burrowed himself further into the blankets provided. "Those days felt little more than hours to me, but I see your point."

Akira planted chicken noodle soup in front of the sick boy, "Say it. You look like you already know the cause, and it's not any of what I just listed."

He huffed, "The reason I'm thinking of isn't true. I know so, but I can't help it..."

He lifted an eyebrow. Goro stared for a moment before turning to glare at his noodles, "It's as if my body rejects me. My father's misplaced will is coursing through me, intent to snuff me out."

He heard Akira mutter.

"I know it's crazy." His eyes shut after revealing one of his greatest irrational fears. "I know I'm crazy for thinking it."

"What about your mother's?"

He looked up, "W-What?"

"You're still half your mother. No matter the pain your father caused, you're not a copy of him."

"My mother's will? I barely remember her, much less what she valued." He scooped up more soup, eyeing the spoon warily. "She was obviously tormented near the end of her years, but I also remember her being kind."

"I would focus on that." He smiles as Goro blows on the soup before eating it, "She had endless opportunities to become something more than a baseless egomaniac-"

"And I do too?" Goro finished satirically. "Even becoming kind? Merciful?"

"An infinite amount of potential."

He tapped his spoon against his chin, "Huh. You're lucky you're cute."

"Too cheesy?"

 

 

Goro walked into one of his father's safehouses the day after christmas, acting as if he was still the ever-loyal assistant. Of course, when they found he was coming they made room for him to visit; ever hopeful that somebody might be able to change Shido back. His gun was heavy in his coat.

He was left alone with the man under pretense that his work required utter concentration. The others complied, leaving Shido chained up (as he usually was these days) for his own good. Two men stood outside the door nonetheless. 

The way Shido begged was utterly uncouth. It ran shivers through him to hear the sincere apology uttered without any sort of trick or hidden contempt. Bare guilt laid out to be stepped on and abused. He seemed to want Goro to kill him.

That suddenly made it feel so wrong. To even grant the shell of a man his wish was still too disgusting to consider. He sneered openly, instead demanding he make due for his crimes by never uttering Goro's name. "Do you know what would happen if you told them I was involved? You would ruin my life further, and I should think that's the least you want out of your disgusting existence." 

It was. The mere thought of causing his son more pain made him wince. "You're not going to kill me?"

His glare was answer enough for Shido to look away. "You're simply not worth my time." 

He left the room without burden, not looking at the men that attempted to swarm him for answers on Shido's condition. The weight of his gun and the weight on his shoulders all ceased to exist in his newfound adrenaline. His blood felt clean. Without prompt he checked his phone, grounding himself in Akira's kind messages. 

In the innermost recesses of his mind he was frightened. He was scared for what he would become, and who he might disappoint. But he swallowed down what palsy fear he had. If he could live on hate, surely he could attempt to live on love too.

**Author's Note:**

> :/// i wrote this mostly as a mirror of my own thoughts regarding who i am vs my negative qualities vs circumstances that make me view my life as short (i.e goros loss of his worse qualities is equivalent to losing himself, but the knowledge that by accepting and depending on these bad qualities he was shortening his own life)
> 
> Then it got updown sideways !!! Out of my hand :P And there was a lot more i wanted to write in. But i think it got too long w/o any discernible place for it to go. Adding onto it would be like running a joke for too long, u kno? (I say that at 8k...)
> 
> Also while i doubt akechi really knows abt the velvet room i had him aware of its existence due to him being a wildcard (and its just easier shhhhh)


End file.
